Stand in the Rain
by Novindalf
Summary: "In that moment, when you made that deal... It was unfair of you to love me." Spoilers for 9.08, potential tissue fuel. 3/3 chapters complete!
1. Chapter 1

***SPOILERS FOR 9.08***

**Disclaimer:** Title and epigraph from Superchick's song 'Stand in the Rain', and Spooks obviously belongs to the BBC and Kudos.

**Characters:** Ruth, Dimitri, Ruth/Harry

**Summary:** What did Ruth do when she thought Harry was dead? How did she react when she found out he was alive? Set at the end of S9E8. Angst ahoy.

Many thanks to Rambling Scribe for her help.

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**Stand in the Rain**

_The shadows are long_

_And she fears if she cries that first tear,_

_The tears will not stop raining down_

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**Chapter 1**

"_In that moment, when you made that deal... It was unfair of you to love me."_

She lasts longer than they had thought she would. From the moment the words "It's my turn" are uttered, her heartbeat stills and her breathing is unsteady. They can tell she is struggling to continue, but it is long past the thirty minutes and well after the others have hurried back to the Grid that her emotions finally overwhelm her and the tears flow. The bomb was a fake, a hoax. A trap for him – for Harry. And if that was true, then...

Hand over her mouth, and her heart simultaneously in the back of her throat and the pit of her stomach, she launches herself from her chair and across the Grid. She punches in the code for the door with trembling fingers and hurtles to the ladies'. She can feel the bile rising in her throat, and she retches over the sink, tears streaming, before collapsing down to the floor. She hugs her knees to her chest, like a child, shaking as she grips her arms with bruising strength. She can't get the words out of her head – over and over again, like a broken record, _he's dead, he's dead, he's dead._

Each breath she takes is laboured; for every gasp she breathes she cries herself out three more, until she struggles with the effort to keep sobbing when there is nothing left to give. She knows she needs to get back, but _please no, not yet_, and there's something about 'time to grieve' that keeps her crying even harder. She tears at her hair, forces her eyes shut with her fists; she has to get rid of the image, the sight of him lying there, kissing her, dead alive anything, anything to stop her from seeing that, from feeling this.

The feeling of 'fine' has never been so distant. She huddles down further against the wall, shivering, fist at her mouth. The door opens, but she's oblivious. Someone sits down beside her, wraps their arms around her, but she doesn't even have the energy to squirm away from this prison. She collapses, limp, against the intruder, willing herself into some abyss where she will feel no emotion, no pain.

His own eyes brimming, Dimitri draws the exhausted Ruth towards him, wrapping his jacket around her frozen body and holding her close. How long they remain like that he has no idea, nor does he care. Every now and then she shudders against him as another image surfaces and the sobs rise up again. With every new wave of her sorrow, fresh tears spring up in his own eyes, and he lets them fall down his face and onto her hair as he rocks her gently in his arms.

Her tears seep through his shirt, and he keeps up the soothing circular motion of his hands on her back. He feels so powerless, that _this _is all he can do to help, but what on earth could even begin to lessen her grief? He's still not even sure what it is – was, _oh God, that only makes it worse_** – **between Ruth and Harry but he's seen – he _saw_ – the looks every day between then, held for that fraction too long, heard that something missing from the words they exchange, unsaid but unneeded, and saw the private smiles and public tears.

And now? He casts his eye over the figure crumpled up into his arms, and his heart breaks at the sight of her like this.

He's lost one friend and colleague already today. He just prays he's not about to lose another.

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_**You'd never believe that I was writing a fluffy fic when this idea came to me, would you? Next part should be up shortly, homeworkload depending. Comments would be lovely if you have the time, as this is one of the hardest things I think I've ever written.**_


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

"_Find the bomb. Make it safe. That's the other way."_

Her eyes had followed him as he walked out, the faint swish of the Pod doors closing behind him for the last time drowning out the voices of her colleagues. Only when he was gone from sight did she register what they were saying, and she vetoed the decision to have Harry shadowed. This was _his turn,_ after all. The turn that should have been hers.

She could feel their eyes on her, taken aback by her words. Why they didn't challenge her, she wasn't sure, but she suspected it was to avoid the headless-chicken feeling. They were running around without an obvious leader, but they were taking Harry's final words as gospel, and obeying his order. She wasn't to know that they were worried for her; even in so short a time they'd seen that there was something going on between her and Harry. And if they hadn't known before, the fact that he would trade her life for something like Albany...

No, she hadn't to think like that. She had a job to do still, and the world didn't stand still just because she was about to lose someone else. (She'd had enough experience there to know that there was never any time to grieve.)

Somewhere along the line, she ended up taking charge. Though Tariq was co-ordinating the Bomb Squad, it was to her he looked for authorisation as he issued orders, and as Dimitri, Beth and Alec headed out to London Bridge Station she was parroting bomb disposal information at them randomly. What good it would do was minimal, but it was something to give them all some semblance of routine, and for her it was anything to keep her eyes focused on the screen in front of her, and her mind off of _him_. She was shaking, her hands were clenched into white-knuckled fists and there was a feeling in her stomach and in her throat like she'd breathed in poison and was choking from the inside out, but on the outside she was composed, calm even, and her voice didn't hitch once.

It was a different matter entirely when they told her the bomb wasn't real. Dimitri's voice might have the slight tint of relief to it when he told her this, but for her only increased the tightness in her chest.

"And Harry?" she asked. "What does that mean for him?"

The silence on the other end of the comms confirmed her fears. The bomb was a decoy, John (she couldn't call him, this man she didn't recognise, by the name of her _friend_) had known Harry would come, had known he would come alone – reckless, principled, guilty...

Her eyes flitted over the screen erratically, and she caught a glimpse of the time. Lucas - _John_ - had said thirty minutes.

It had been forty-two.

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**Okay, so maybe a little bit more than a two-parter... Looking more like a three-parter now. Possibly four.**

**This chapter was actually my original idea for this fic, but I didn't think it had enough oomph (i.e. angst) for what I wanted. Hopefully it works here instead.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

His phone goes off for a second time and this time he hears it. He stabs at the buttons to get it to shut up, this is not the time, not when Ruth is- and then stops. Blinks. Reads the text that crops up with blurred vision. He shakes her gently, as if afraid she will break in his arms. She swallows down some shaky breaths and pulls away from him, a little embarrassed in spite of everything, her back rigid as she sits bolt upright and tries to compose herself. It isn't fair that Dimitri should have to-

He thrusts the phone at her face so she can read for herself, not trusting his own voice. She flinches away, but he is persistent, and she has no choice but to focus on the small screen.

_Harry's alive._

There's a "Tell her" somewhere in there among that text of two words. With the last of her breath she lets out a weak "Oh", somewhere in the middle of shock and relief. Gently, Dimitri presses the phone into her hands. She grips it tightly in her shaking fingers, cupping it to her as though it is the most precious thing she has ever held. When the light on the screen goes blank, she immediately presses the button to re-illuminate it, as if she dare not let the words fade for fear that they are only true while she can see them, and that if they're not there, he'll be gone too.

She leans back, head against the wall, and looks up at the ceiling, finding herself giving thanks to someone she had long thought she was past believing in.

"You'll break that if you keep holding it so tight," Dimitri says, nudging her ever so gently with his elbow. Ruth immediately lets go, and the phone falls to the floor. "Or, alternatively," he continues, "break it anyway." Puffy eyes meet puffy eyes, and their relief escapes them in a short laugh. He leans across her to pick the phone up, and when he pulls back he feels the light weight of her hand on his arm.

"You won't tell, will you?" she asks him quietly, biting her lip. It astounds him that even after what has happened, she is still fearful of what others might say about her, that they might think her any less than the incredible woman that she is, just because she has been human in her grief and has cried for the one she-

He looks at the pleading expression on her face, and then at the sign on the door. With a mischievous twitch at the corner of his mouth he leans a little closer to her. "I won't tell if you don't," he mutters, his eyes flicking briefly back at the sign, and he winks at her with a smile.

She squeezes his arm again gently in gratitude and accepts the tissues he hands her once he's helped her up, dabbing shamefacedly at the tear-tracks down her cheeks and the moisture at the corners of her eyes.

"I'll leave you be," Dimitri says, and turns to leave. She stops him.

"I'm fine," she says, and this time when she says it she's not hit with the wall of guilt that she was before. He raises his eyebrow a little as if to say "Are you sure?", but she's tossing the tissues into the bin and out of the door before she notices the silent question.

She might not be 'fine' in the way he understands, but she's a far cry better than she was. She's been through the heart of the storm and emerged the other side, looking worse for wear – of that she has no doubt – but nevertheless having survived.

Survived.

_Harry's alive._

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_You stand through the pain_

_You won't drown_

_And one day what's lost can be found_

_You stand in the rain_

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**Okay, so it's ended up as a three-parter then. This is the final chapter, as to take it further would, I feel, no longer fit with the song lyrics, and also I think it's a good place to leave it. Hopefully you liked it, and please leave me a short review to let me know if you felt it worked (or equally if you didn't). Thanks for reading!**


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